Bakura's Bane
by shinujigoku
Summary: A war to start an eternity of hate, pain and above all, love. A Bakura x Marik, Yami x Seto tale. :: R&R.
1. Prologue

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A.N. Salutations! I am new to the circuit of fan fiction writing and I wish to educate you on an insy-weensy detail. This is a PROLOGUE, which means that I have included my own characters to 'explain' why things are as they are. Don't worry, SLASH scenes will appear in later chapters with Bakura and another YGO character, and not necessarily the other YGO character I mention in my prologue. (Since I really don't think that pairing is all too grand.) Yet if you are a lost little chicken who didn't understand one word I said, I want you to keep in mind that in the proper chapters, YGO characters will become the main protagonists, and not the ones I've created in my Prologue. You'll see why in the end. Anyway, why are you still reading the author's comment? Start reading the damn story! Thankyou!…nn…

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BAKURA'S BANE 

By shinujigoku

_'In this mausoleum of hell I realise that someone, such as you, will soon come across my journal and an artefact of immense power. I pity you because you, such a weakling, will never comprehend on what is happening to you, and around you. I suppose it will feel like death in a way; I wouldn't know... I've never experienced it. Hmm...although this diary may be somewhat old and that I have deceased during the time I wrote it and the time you've discovered it...I still live. Through these pages, through that artefact, through everything you see hear and touch, I still live and will be living through all eternity. Well, enough of this mindless chit-chat, I better get started on my tale so you know the truth and how you, dear reader, will know your death and what brought me to this spiritual hell. I at least grant you that much, Hmm? Now then, my tale begins and ends as it always does with the beginning of all wars...the war against my only enemy...the war against the Pharaoh.'_

The sun began to hide behind the hazy horizon in a brilliance of deep golds, reds and rich orange hues. Its fading rays graced the rooftops of the ancient city of Cairo, leaving long shadows and dark corners in its wake. The night God's breath gently floated through the town, whispering secrets from twisted alley to every corner. Fine granuals of sand travelled with the God, nipping at the cloaks of merchants as they close their stalls for the night. Sand floated, sand diminished; an ever going cycle of birth and rebirth, yet the God's breath lingered. It floated past houses where the smell of bread wafted through small windows, and it passed the slums where unwashed bodies and excrement polluted the air. It continued to float through street to street until it finally shuddered and rest its airborne grace at the edge of Cairo City where an inn was stationed. This inn, unlike other inns situated in the heart of Cairo, was known to have a very 'exquisite' reputation to please the weary foreigner. Buxom women in flimsy gowns offered great pints of ale and erect nipples to the intoxicated merchants. Men flocked to these gorgeous women in need of sexual attention, and they dubbed the inn as 'The Palace,' for there they were treated like Kings. However, to the locals, 'The Palace' was named after a different reason. 'The Palace' was known to be the hide-out of the most prestigious thieves around; even the teasing women were stealing from the fat merchants slobbering over their ales. So, the locals all knew, that the intoxicated men would wake up with a splitting headache, their purse evidently lighter, and no inclination of who they were in company with throughout the evening. The locals even bet that those merchants didn't even know about the loud commotion above them and that tonight was marked a 'special' event amongst the thieve circle and the general slum of Cairo. The locals stood waiting behind gaping smirks and shadows. Waiting..

One of the thieves stood up, and loomed over the council of rogues surrounding him. Most of his thieves would not meet his eyes, for fear of disapproving their King. However, those eyes he did meet gave him a congratulatory glance. He looked around the room and his fellow thieves, his people he called family. He saw the thieves were all sitting on the edge of their cushions, all tense and sweaty. For two hours they had been sitting there listening to speeches on who was to be King, who should be King that he was just another flagrant thieve, albeit well known. The restless thieves, he saw, all wanted to find a cosy bed for the night; perhaps even the company of the women downstairs proved to be a better treat than listening to him talk.

"I will not have this weed of a boy rule as King. All his fancy 'airs' and your boasting will not persuade us to vote for him as the new King. We want someone who knows their ways, someone who can lead us into triumph. This 'boy' you see before you is just a weakling, a nobody, living in a big man's world. He should not be King! Thor should be King!"

The crowd moved forward, listening intently_. This might prove to be interesting _thought the crowd. _Hopefully he won't be like the others._

'What do we know of this boy? Nothing! I tell you men, would you want a mere stranger, let alone a boy, governing your every move, your every thought? No! I definitely wouldn't want a boy governing me, why would any one of you want to be governed by this boy either! So, you ask me, 'Who shall we choose?' And I say Thor. Thor will lead us into everlasting wealth and greatness!'

The small room exploded with noise as each man and woman rose stamping and shouting at the central figure with either distaste or approval, some men even chanting Thor's name in victory. Every man and woman surrounding the pock faced man petted him on the shoulder already saying that Thor would be an excellent choice as the new King. Thor was a well muscled, tanned, young man and he was sitting quietly on he cushions, smiling slightly over the rim of his ale. Next to him was a thin man, well toned, tanned, and gems and tattoos lacing his body. However, his demeanour did not resemble the young man sitting next to him. His face was of purest loathing and disgust all aimed towards the pock faced man. Slowly, he rose and the room went silent, smiles faded, and everybody stared at the leering man. Even Thor set his ale down watching curiously.

'Raoul!' the man barked. 'Come here!'

The pock face man, now known as Raoul, ambled forward, his chin raised. He stopped in front of the old man and did a flurry of bows and kisses upon the man's outstretched hand. The hand, however, struck Raoul hard leaving him flabbergasted on the floor clutching his face.

'How dare you,' the man yelled, 'assume that you are the leader of my thieves and make decisions for them! Ra gave them a brain, surely they can use it for themselves. Now get out of my way you wretched cretin!'

The man kicked Raoul out of the way before striding to the far edge of the room where firelight did not reach. The man grabbed a fistful of dirty tunic before yanking a boy around the age of fifteen to his feet. The boy was quite tall for his age, he was well toned, tanned and had unnaturally white hair that glimmered shades of violet in the firelight. His bright, brown eyes beamed intelligence but they burned with a feral hunger reminding the onlookers of a wild Lion, ready to kill. The boy, still in the grasp of the old man, strode alongside him, until they faced Raoul cringing in undisguised fear.

'Now Raoul.' The King said scathingly. 'Am I, or am I not, the King of thieves?'

'Yes you are the King your majesty.' Raoul answered sullenly.

'Then tell me Raoul. Under the rules of Palet, do I or do I not have the choice on who is to succeed me as King when I perish?'

'You are allowed to choose, your majesty'

'So, what is your fucking problem with Bakura? What reason do you have to go against my choice and stand amongst my fellow thieves, turning them against me? Your King!'

'Well you...you see your majesty.' Stuttered Raoul. 'Us thieves do not want to follow someone who is half our age. We...we want someone more experienced than some scrawny kid we've never heard of. We want Thor to be our leader when you're de...dead. Meaning no disrespect sir...I mean your majesty.'

By this time the King was pacing heavily in front of Raoul and the crowd, anger seeping in every step. The crowd, unnoticed by the King, were mouthing warnings to Raoul, or shaking their heads in dismay. No one wanted to tests the King's judgement in fear of the consequences, all they wanted was a new successor to be named, tonight, under the festival of Osiris, the ruler of the dead and the damned. However, the crowd did not expect there to be this newcomer, this boy, to have the King's favour. They expected Thor, and still expected him to be chosen as the new King.

'So,' announced the King stopping mid-stride, 'do all my fellow thieves, my brothers, agree with this betrayer that Thor should be a better choice than my own preference?'

The crowd slowly shifted from one foot to the other, each mumbling their approval of Thor to the King. The King just huffed and straightened, addressing his thieves in resignation.

'Very well then,' boomed the King. 'Everyone, be seated on the luxurious pillows donated by the innkeeper this evening and have a few ales while I'll prepare for the ceremony. Tigersnake!' A big, burly man stepped forward cautiously. 'Please repeat to the congregation on the ways a new King can be chosen or made.'

As the crowd began to recline on the pillows surrounding the room with great ales in their hands, Tigersnake stepped into the centre, took a deep breath and began mentioning the ways the King could be chosen. Many of the men were taking little notice as the serving women swooped past them with their delicious curves and musky scent. They all began smirking and cat-calling names to the women, some even daring to tweak a showing nipple of the serving maid as she poured ale for one of the thieves. Finally, after Tigersnake had finished his boring recital and joined his fellow drunken thieves, the music began and the crowd became louder than before dancing and singing in merriment. Thor too joined his fellow thieves, sloshing ale all over the place as he twirled a pretty girl with his other arm. By now most of the men were intoxicated and oblivious to the King as he returned from where he was lurking at the fireplace to the corner of the room where Bakura was scowling at the crowd.

'Do you mean to say that I have to govern these dimwits in the art of stealth and deception?' inquired Bakura as he jerked his head in the direction of Thor who was now pouring ale down the woman's chest, suckling her breast as the amber liquid touched his lips.

'I'm afraid you do Bakura,' sighed the King. 'These dimwits are known to be the best thieves in Egypt and you need them to carry out the plan. I trust you will continue to carry it out when I'm gone?'

'Yes your majesty'

'Good! Now let's enjoy tonight of the Dark Lord's Festival and watch as these dimwits get their money stolen.' And sure enough one of the women's hands unhooked a drunk thief's purse and placed it in her shoal for "safe-keeping."

'Oi, come here my young lady' barked the King to a girl the same age as Bakura. 'Come fill his mug and show the hospitality The Palace is well renowned for!'

Bakura grimaced behind the King's back as the girl walked over and sat on Bakura's lap, battering her eyelashes and giggling softly. The girl leaned closer and started kissing and licking his neck, her hand just massaging his upper thigh suggestively.

'See isn't that better,' boomed the King. 'You need to loosen up more Bakura, have a little _fun._ So I'll leave you now with friendly company as I just finish up a little before we decide the new King hmm?' The King began patting the box before winking and rising to leave.

'Wait!' exclaimed Bakura, 'What are you scheming? What's in the box and why are you smiling insanely?'

'I thought you of all people would know what I was up to. Oh well, I guess you'll find out soon enough.' And without further ado the King swept off with his mysterious box and the girl reasserted herself in Bakura's line of vision.

'What would you like me to do?' purred the girl in Bakura's ear.

'Firstly' whispered Bakura, 'I want you to remove your hand from my crotch, secondly, I want you to remove yourself altogether, and lastly, I want you to call the water boy over to serve me and my _needs._'

The girl squeaked and jumped off Bakura's lap, yet not before his knife scraped a thin stripe across her wrist, drawing blood.

'Now who's being a bad girl?' snarled Bakura. 'I didn't tell you to take my money now did I? Hand it over, or else you can say goodbye to your hand as I add it to my collection.'

The girl just humphed before returning the purse and storming in the direction of the water boy at the far side of the room. Bakura watched as the boy glanced in his direction before forgetting his water and walked over to Bakura, sitting on his lap bashfully. Bakura looked at the boy who was a little younger than himself. He had deep brown hair that fell to his shoulders, chocolate brown "puppy" eyes, and a small tanned frame with few blemishes. Bakura smiled, raking one of his hands down the other boy's chest, pleased at how the boy shivered in his touch, licking his lips slightly. _Maybe I will have some fun tonight,_ thought Bakura as he leaned into the other boy for a kiss.

'Ahem, could I please have everybody's attention' boomed the King.

Bakura pulled away from the kiss scowling as he patted the boy to get off his lap with the promise that he'll see him later tonight in his chambers. He then reclined further into the pillows, hoping that the shadows would conceal his growing erection, and that the crowd would not notice his existence. Yet those quiet musings were short lived as the King beckoned both Bakura and Thor to be beside him as he spoke.

'Now my fellow thieves, we are all here to decide on the successor of the Kingship if I die. Since my judgement was inadequate, you decided on a different man to take my role.' exclaimed the King wrapping one arm around the shoulder of Thor, and the other one around Bakura. 'So, I got Tigersnake to recite on how a King is chosen or made and I've come to the conclusion that there will be no successor tonight. Tonight we shall have a new King!'

The room was silent with only a few gasps coming from some of the thieves. One, who went by Rat Tooth, stepped forward gingerly, twitching spasmodically.

'Err...your majesty...umm how do you propose to make a King tonight when you're still alive?' mumbled Rat Tooth.

'Exactly! How do we make a King tonight when the old one is still alive? Well the answer is in the box which I'm holding. Thor, would you do the honour of opening it and showing its contents to your fellow thieves?'

Thor, breathing heavily, plucked the elaborate mahogany box from the King's fingers and opened it carefully, revealing a long silver dagger with the tip covered in old blood. Thor dropped the box immediately letting it crash heavily on the clay floor. Thor stepped back to the murmuring of the crowd, shaking his head slowly, his eyes wide in fear. Bakura glanced at Thor's face to the dagger, puzzlement crossing his fine facial features.

'Now, now Thor, it is only a dagger.' said the King retrieving the dagger from the ground and fondling it lovingly. 'It holds the key to creating a new King.' The King looked around excitedly, yet he was only met by the flickering flames over blank or puzzled faces. 'Hmm...this dagger belonged to my father long ago and it was passed down onto me when my father died by the knife's tip. Do you see the blood? That's his. You see, the tip holds a poison that travels straight to the heart and shrivels it. Yet that's not all. Even a little poison can sear all of your veins and arteries, leaving only a combusted body behind. This poison is called Seth's Envy and it's extremely rare and expensive. Of course, Seth's Envy was what killed my unworthy father when my mother betrayed him, nicking his skin as they made love. Anyway, enough of the past, as you all know I'm becoming too old to govern you all as King, yet I will never resign while I still breathe. So Bakura, Thor, to become the new King of Thieves you must kill me first, 'cause I am sure as hell not giving it to you on a silver platter. So my dear Thor, take the knife and wield it if you wish to reign over what I hold dear!'

Thor, in his drunken haze, looked down on the knife, firelight glimmering on its steel edge. He gulped and wiped his sweaty brow, glancing around the room to see his fellow thieves' faces. Many were shocked to think that the King wished to die then just name Thor as King. Some were melancholy, refusing to look at anyone or anything but their feet, and others, others looked at Thor sternly their eyes full of hunger and power, encouraging Thor to take the knife. Thor knew that the men who willed him to take the knife and murder the King wanted to rise in the thieves ranks and obtain more power, allowing them more lenience to create and destroy. Even Thor himself wanted to wreak havoc upon the city, milking the rich and the poor of their earnings. Yet now, now he was having doubts. It was better to kill the King elsewhere than now, and he believed even the desolate child next to him couldn't even wield a dagger and kill the most renowned King of Thieves the dregs have ever known. _No, there are ways around this...There _is _a way around this..._

'Well?' The King brandished the dagger in front of Thor.

'No!' whispered Thor, taking a step backwards and shaking his head. 'You know I cannot do this. You know I won't be able to kill a cherished and respected King. Not through the festival of our Dark Lord. You should of just chosen a successor tonight, yet what I don't understand is that why you didn't see me as your heir? After all, I am your son.'

Loud gasps and murmurings echoed around the cramped room, yet not as audible as Raoul as he slammed his tankard on the bench and swore loudly.

'What is this?' shouted Raoul, 'Tonight you bring some unknown street urchin into our circle and you think we'll follow him? Now we find out Thor is your son. Your own flesh and blood! It states in the Palet that any son born to he King of Thieves is by birthright the next King. Why do you choose to stand against tradition? Against us? You know what King, you're just a worthless piece of shit that's never-'

'That's enough Raoul!' thundered Thor.

'I'm not going to be silenced by you or your fucked up-'

A silver object twirled majestically through the air before lodging itself cleanly in Raoul's scarred neck. Raoul gagged instantaneously as he clawed at his bleeding neck, which was quickly turning brown and shrivelling to the bone. He convulsed madly, his limbs flying around everywhere, his eyes great bulbs of agony and fear. Raoul was ripping the skin in pain, yet as soon as the twitching began, Raoul took one last shuddering breath before he crumpled to the floor, his dead body shrivelling upon itself. Afterwards, only the mummified remains of Raoul remained; his scull contoted in a look of purest agony. The King chuckled and stepped on the remains that shattered instantly and became dust under his brown sandal. Only Raoul's clothes, jewels and the dagger remained. The King bent down and retrieved the knife , blowing it gently clean before smiling solemnly at his audience.

'I have kept some secrets from you all, and Thor was one of them. I chose to name Bakura as my heir over my own son because Thor is not as "Great" and "Righteous" you all have come to believe. You see, I have known my own son ever since he popped out of the wench who birthed him. Do not mistake me, I would of chosen Thor if I truly believed him worthy of the title. Yet I do not, so since Thor has failed the test, it now leaves Bakura to do the act. I'll trust you to make it quick Bakura.'

The King handed the hilt to Bakura, who in turn grasped it in his long fingers, testing the balance in his hand.

'NO!' shouted Thor. 'Enough is enough! Tonight no one dies. This is the Dark Lord's Festival. We should be celebrating, not arguing on who would be the next King, let alone Killing the old one. Let us all retire now with the pretty company the Palace offers us and forget tonight. Father, you are still King, we will discuss who would be the successor in the next meeting. Now, thieves, let us take our leave before the rooster crows at dawn.'

General grunts and yawns escaped the crowd; men and women supporting each other as they gathered their belongings. Yet amongst the din of shuffling footsteps, deep laughter arose, bellowing around the room and silencing the crowd once more for the night.

'Tell me Thor,' Bakura chuckled. 'Are you afraid of this little wee knife, afraid of killing your father, or afraid to lose the right as King to a mere desolate child since you couldn't pass the test?'

'What makes you think I'm afraid Bakura?' snarled Thor.

'Oh just for the mere fact that your running and using the excuse that the men are tired and that we should be celebrating the Dark Lord's Festival, to help hide your fear.'

'I'm not afraid of a mere boy who has nothing to do but play adult games, with little understanding on how the big men play. Don't you think it wise and honourable to settle the Kingship another day without the use of violence. And shouldn't you return to your mummy 'cause I think she'll be worried where her ickle boy has run off to this evening?'

General laughter escaped the crowd. Yet there laughter did not meet their eyes as they watched warily the fuming Bakura ball his fists and glare at Thor in hatred.

'I believe you are a coward Thor. Shall I teach you a lesson your mother seemingly never taught you?' Bakura snarled. The laughter abruptly stopped, everyone frowning at Bakura and his audacity to mention the queen in such an ungrateful tone. Bakura however, was oblivious to the crowd and he took a step closer to Thor, hatred etched in every line on his young face.

'You see, love is a fickle thing, something for the birds because, why should a person love when it's going to die anyway? We care too much and that is our downfall. That especially is your downfall Thor; you care to much and your a fool to not see the bigger picture. We need a strong leader that won't baulk at the sight of a challenge, to lead us into victory. If you are so dumbfounded by love to not be able to kill your own father, imagine if you had a lover with a knife at her bodice. Where would you be except dead on your love-making sheets. You will not be King this night, nor ever will be because your not strong enough to lead us. We de not need you Thor! You are the one who needs to go back to his mother so she can ween her _child._'

Thor, fuming, rushed over to Bakura who stood placidly smirking, and yanked the dagger from Bakura's grasp.

'I'll show you I'm not weak or a coward!' snarled Thor as he hurtled to his father, the dagger poised to strike. Yet a flurry of robes and muscly sinew stopped the attack, the knife's tip barely an inch from the King's nose.

'No my son, you have failed the test and it is now Bakura's turn to relinquish me from my position.' The King patted Thor on the shoulder and unhooked the dagger from Thor's shaking hands, 'Bakura, no more talk, just do it!' He threw the knife to Bakura who smiled solemnly as he caught it. Bakura strode to the King, kissed his lips gently and lodged the knife cleanly into the King's stomach. Bakura gasped sharply and turned the knife, yanking the blade upwards to the King's heart so the poison would just finish the King as soon as possible, so didn't have to watch the bulging eyes, and the smell of burning flesh anymore. Bakura tried to keep a vindictive face for the audience, yet inside, inside he was breaking. _I will not let you down master, my only friend. Rest in Peace your Majesty._

'Bakura! Bakura! So what do we call you now since you are our King?'

Bakura blinked and he stared down at the shriveled corpse of his King, wrapped around his legs. He dislodged the knife and the corpse turned to ash, crumbling over his already dirty feet.

'Just call me Bakura, there is no need for formalities.' Bakura sighed. 'It's high time that you all retire now and mourn for your dead King. I know you have many questions that need to be answered, yet you can ask them in the next meeting. For now, go, I need to think!'

'But,' snarled Tigersnake. 'How would we know of the next meeting?'

'When you see a boy with a piece of red cloth tied to his ear ring, he will tell you a riddle. You must figure it out to know where the next meeting will be held. The first ten men will become my advisers. Until then, mourn for your lost King. Thor, I want you to remain behind while the others leave.'

'No!' said Tigersnake. 'Whatever you say to Thor you say to the rest of us. We are thieves united! We stay!'

Bakura merely rolled his eyes and muttered. 'Very well then.' and he crossed to Thor who was rubbing his father's ashes over his face in grief. Thor glared at Bakura as he approached, but he was swiftly upturned and pinned to the ground by the small boy who was trying to yank Thor's mouth open. 'This is so you won't betray me Thor.' And with Thor's hidden knife Bakura sliced out Thor's tongue, throwing it into the nearest pitcher of ale. Next Bakura hacked off Thor's hands and threw them aside before wiping the blade on his tunic and giving a satisfied smile. The crowd was flabbergasted and they watched Thor twitch and whimper in his own blood. Bakura whistled to the serving girl and ordered her to clean him up. He slowly turned to the shocked thieves around him. 'What I have done to Thor is what I would do to you if I discover any of you betraying me. Do I make myself clear?' General nodding came from most of the thieves and Tigersnake kept apologising for being intimidating earlier. 'That's alright Tigersnake. But for now could all of you piss off! I need to-'

Bakura's annoyed voice was silenced by the thundering footsteps outside the room's door. Every thief procured a blade of some sort and stood ready to strike. Yet the footsteps stopped outside the threshold of the door and a man's voice thundered.

'The hunters are coming your majesty, I wish for you all to leave so I won't be found harbouring wanted thieves on my premises. I will require the board money next time, but for now, you know what to do.'

Then as suddenly as the footsteps arrived, they left back down the staircase.

'What did the innkeeper mean "You know what to do'?' Rat Tooth asked.

'He means "escape" Rat Tooth.' said Tigersnake.

'Oh I know that!' exclaimed Rat Tooth before biting his bottom lip confused. 'But how?'

'I think we'd all like to know that since the only way out is through the front door where the hunters are sure waiting.' Tigersnake growled.

'Through the trapdoor men' Bakura remarked evenly.

'But where?' whined Rat Tooth.

'Under the hearth rug you dimwit!'

Every thief scrambled to the rug, tossed it aside and opened the trapdoor. People were trying to squeeze in first, and over the din of quarrelling bodies Bakura yelled that the tunnels were the sewers of Egypt and they all led to the Nile banks. He told them that he'd meet them there. Huffed grunts were made in reply and slowly but surely all the thieves vanished into the trapdoor. The only people remained was Bakura and the boy who was entertaining him before.

'Please come with me.' whispered Bakura.

'I cannot. My mother and sister are still here and I need to be with them now. Go Now your majesty! I hear the horses! We will meet again! Good Luck! The boy kissed Bakura in farewell and practically pushed Bakura down the trapdoor. Bakura looked up to see the worried face of the boy as the trapdoor slid shut and the hiss of the rug being replaced over the door. Bakura looked around in the unfathomable darkness, willing his eyes to adjust. He heard the steady drip of water coming from above and he began to cling to the moss covered tunnel, feeling with his hands the way to the Nile. He couldn't hear the footsteps of his fellow thieves up ahead. Yet he knew he would catch up with them shortly. He doubted many of them hadn't even walked five hundred metres by how much clothing and jewels they wore. They were also a bit on the chubby side, looking like they've never eercised in their life. _I need them to start exercising...I need fit thieves to do the job, not ones that gorge on my winnings. Yet I suppose I need their allegiance, _sighed Bakura.

Bakura kept gripping the wall, stumbling over rocks, potholes, and the occasional waste puddle. The darkness was overwhelming, yet Bakura still endured. Occasionally Bakura drew his small sword when he heard scuttling feet, or an occasional splash. Yet they turned out to be only emancipated rats searching for food. Bakura kept walking in the darkness passing great channels of decomposing waste and sewage. For what seemed like hours, Bakura clinged to that wall waiting for the light at the end of the tunnel. And there it was, around just one more bend and he was there. Bakura slowly began to run to the light, not caring that he was splashing raw sewage over his already dirty tunic. He went around the bend and he walked gallantly past the water rushes to his fellow thieves. Yet what his eyes met both dismayed him and angered him.

All along the riverbank his rogues were sprawled on the ground, blood seeping out of open wounds. Hunters were scavenging from the bodies anything worth of value, and a tall man on a black stallion was supervising them from behind. The man had a lean, powerful figure and he wore rich clothing. His face was stern and his hair struck out at odd angles. Yet the darkness was hard to distinguish any specific features, yet he saw the man's head turn and bright purple eyes met his and a twisted smile played on his perfect face.

Bakura panicked and tried to draw his sword, but the Hunters that sneaked up behind him, tackled him to the mud and pinned him down. He could see the horse's hooves prance toward him and come to a stop barely a metre in front of him. A second later, black sandals came to Bakura's eyelevel and his face was upturned so he could face the elegant man.

'What do we have here?' The man smirked as he knelt down to survey Bakura. Bakura watched as the man's eyes widen in shock and then undisguised lust over Bakura. Bakura then felt the man's hands cup his cheek, his thumb tracing the outline of his lips. Bakura tried to bite down on the invading thumb, yet the man just laughed and whisked an elegant knife from his belt.

'We have a ruffian on our hands boys!' jeered the man. 'He needs to be taught manners boys!' and the man cut a jagged line on Bakura's right cheek and whispered only for Bakura's ears. 'I will save your life for now young boy because I already have the ninety-nine men required dead. Yet if I ever see your pretty face with my marking on it again, you will be captured and be made into my personal slave. I look forward to the day we meet again, and we will, 'cause I can see revenge plainly written in your lovely eyes.' The man laughed and knelt further down and licked some of Bakura's blood from his cheek. 'Until we meet again, have fun with my men.' The man swiftly rose, jumped back onto his horse and barked orders to the men holding down Bakura to teach him a "lesson."

'Now be good boys!' yelled the man as he galloped away.

'We will Pharaoh!' yelled the men back.

Bakura's head shot up. _Pharaoh? _Bakura thought. Yet he was suddenly slammed back down into the mud by the strong men, his clothes ripped from his body, and a hard member penetrating his tight hole, slamming in furiously. Bakura yelped but the man kept riding him furiously, dealing a painful lash from his whip on Bakura's pale buttocks silencing him._ I will get my revenge _fumed Bakura silently as he felt the man riding him orgasm, and the other man climbing on. _You will see my sword pierce your heart the day you die Pharaoh. I will defeat you as I have promised my King. No one takes my virginity, my reputation, and my life away from me. This means war Pharaoh!_

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A.N. Greetings again all who have stumbled upon my horrific fic and read this monstrosity that I call my own. As you have gathered I have hijacked you for a brief moment to inform you that there's this little toolbar on the left that states 'Submit Review.' I wish for you to click it and enter it, therefore adding your personal thoughts on Bakura's Bane, and me as a writer. You can criticise and flame me all you like, but it has to be constructive and stuff that I might not already know…nn. So now…points in the direction of the toolbar Submit a Review! Oh and another thing…if you want me to update quickly, there has to be over ten reviews and not made by the same person again and again. Ok? Good…now SUBMIT! ..nn..

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	2. Red Skies and Dark Tales

A/N: I've finally updated! I'm sorry it took heaps long it's just that I was never happy with the way it ended up so I redid it. Finally this time around I said 'stuff it' and so I've placed my RAW story here for the time being. I felt really guilty for not doing this sooner, it's just that I lost my 'muse' due to certain circumstances. Anyway…I want to thank all the reviewers for their encouragement and I hope I can still entertain them with this story (plus any new fans. –smiles sweetly to all the passer by- ) Well read on my dear minions and please REVIEW!

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BAKURA'S BANE

CHAPTER ONE:

RED SKIES AND DARK TALES

By shinujigoku

_Ah, what a bittersweet tale don't you think? The parody of an orphan wanting to be King, only to be brought down again by lustful brutes and the true King's blade. Foolish you may say, that I aspired to dreams bigger than my understanding. Yet I say victorious, because it made me thirsty. Terribly thirsty for blood which only revenge can satiate. That bastard known as Pharaoh ruined what I had gained that night. He annihilated my thieves... thieves that were renowned for their art and their connections. With one slice of a blade my entire army, my station, and my reputation was destroyed. Even my virginity was taken which was promised to the water boy back at The Palace. I lost everything that night. Everything! _

_What was worse was when news of the massacre reached the slums; the entire population went into complete chaos. Some men were rumored to commit suicide, even poisoning their whole family due to the mayhem. They didn't know whom to blame. They turned left, right and center for the culprit, yet those imbeciles refused to blame the Pharaoh. I don't know what was entering their thick skulls, yet it was obvious that it was the Pharaoh and his Hunters' fault for murdering the slum's army. So they discovered about my existence and that's when the trouble started. They heard there was a new King and they expected immediate results. However, when the results they desired didn't come to pass, their wrath was imminent. I was exiled with many men hungry for my blood and my title. None of them could defeat me, and many of them died in the effort. And yes I'm not being smug...I'm being quite modest thank you! Yet amongst the men who tried to defeat me, there were some rare gems. These gems were undoubtedly good in the art of stealth, subterfuge and fighting that I hired them as my partners in crime. (After, of course, they were rightly beaten and were given the choice to live and serve me, or die and enter Osiris' realm.) It took me three long years to rebuild what the Pharaoh destroyed, and it took me even longer to regain the trust of the slum cretins!_

_So how did I do it? Oh it was nothing too ostentatious. Just burning the royal wheat fields and murdering an odd royal prostitute once in a while. I also went tomb robbing to give the slum people hope. It was just enough to regain my notoriety within the community, especially after I had gathered an impressive amount of followers. Yet those were the hardest years of my life and it set me back on what I had scheduled. Yet it doesn't bother me now, that was over eight millennia ago._

_ARGH! Why am I telling you this! Shall we continue this wretched tale or not! I'm bloody well not having a vessel that doesn't know the truth. I can't see why Lady Destiny chose you in the first place! You're so scrawny and weak compared to my previous form! Well anyway...enjoy, my perplexed friend, on the discovery of my one, and only, bane._

00000

The early pinkish hues of morning sunrise illuminate the sky as gentle winds caress the muddy buildings with ticklish tendrils of temperate air. The latent town begins to rise, and stirring movement can be seen in the town square where hawkers and merchants arrange their commodities. As the morning light slowly creeps up the mudstone buildings, weary slaves stumble outside as they begin to prepare the landlords' breakfast of sweetmeats, fruits and spices. Yet as the morning light banishes the darkness, Ra's rays cannot penetrate the stygian shadows that overwhelm the sand giants outside this legendary city. Unbeknownst to the sleepy inhabitants of Thebes, the perfidious sand dunes of the Sahara hide the malevolent spirit of the Underworld and his newfound lover.

'What is the meaning of this! Drinking and buggering! Is this what I'm paying you for? Get up at once you cankerous imbeciles!'

A mad scramble of inebriated soldiers with their togas misplaced rose quickly to attention as a tall man with shades of gold and violet in his dark hair emerged from his tent, a foreboding glare crossing his chiseled face.

'The art of war is to have men willing to die and fight for you for the sake of preserving the life of the Pharaoh in the afterlife.' Snarled the man. 'Especially when you are paid by me, to die, for me, that I expect to see your writhing carcasses drowning in your own suppurating blood by the end of my conquests. Despite your need to satiate your thirst and hunger for one's flesh, I anticipate that my wishes are foremost and that you're ready to go to war in the next hour?'

'Yes Pharaoh, we are!' Replied the soldiers nonchalant.

'Good I'll brief you when the sun is plainly visible above the horizon,' drawled the Pharaoh, 'Make sure everything's packed and the men are ready by then.' The Pharaoh turned and began to walk back towards his tent before he glared at the soldiers once more and barked; 'Oh, and make sure that that display of lustful abandon is not seen again unless I deem it so!'

'Understood, Pharaoh!'

As the Pharaoh walked back into his tent and the flaps rustle back into place, the malevolent Seth turns to the fuming Pharaoh and cradles the young King within his cool arms.

'Even though I'm Pharaoh, I wish those mother coddling fools to stand up for themselves once in a while.' Murmured the Pharaoh as he nestled within the God's arms.

'Come now Yami,' whispered Seth as he bent his head to nibble at the young King's neck, eliciting a moan from the younger man, 'they both love and fear you. You hold life and death within your fingertips, and they become subservient so not to anger you. You can't blame them for being weary.'

'But they're the top generals in my whole country!' Yelled Yami as he pushed the God amongst the pillows before straddling his lap. 'I expect them to lead my army to murder anybody I desire. I want them to argue against my strategies so then I can discern whether or not my strategy is vulnerable for a counterattack! I expect them to be men! Not effeminate sodomites!'

'But aren't you an effeminate sodomite?' Smirked the god as he wrapped his fingers roughly in Yami's hair whilst sliding his other hand up Yami's toga, massaging his inner thigh. 'Last time I checked you were pleading like a girl as I came in from behind.' Seth laughed as he brutally shifted the younger man on his lap until he came in contact with his throbbing cock. Yami, his pupils dilating in desire, met the god's fervor and dragged Seth in a passionate kiss as he slid comfortably down his length in heated reply.

'At least I'm not an aardvark in the bedroom'

00000

'The sleeping extraordinaire is once again doing what he does best…sleeping!' laughs the handsome young man as he tries to haul his best friend from the hay and blankets. 'Ra's risen and its time for us to bathe! Come on before the old hag makes us clean her fetid folds of flesh!'

'You just want to have a reason to stare at Amon's backside!' Grumbled the sleeping male as he threw hay at his best friend. 'Go Sekah. I'll meet you down there later.' And with that he buried himself deeper into the hay.

'Marik, you said that yesterday and the day before.' Whined Sekah as he started to drag the poor youth from his slumber. 'I bet you haven't bathed for a week! How despicable! You should be ashamed of yourself you polluted, putrid sleaze of the - '

An exasperated groan escapes Marik as he clambers resignedly out of his warm haven to stand next to the grinning male making swishy movements with his hand to signify Marik's smelliness. Marik smiled and shoved him playfully. He admired his friend; his dark auburn hair and bravura brown eyes scored many wanton females to his home, however; he turned each of them down gently which caused malicious rumors to spread. Sekah, who had had enough of the gossiping midwives, announced in the town square that he did prefer males than females and he wasn't going to change. Despite his declaration, girls still showed up for marriage prospects. Marik wished he had the same success as his friend Sekah. He, unfortunately, was on the thin side and his mousy brown hair and strange purple eyes deterred any females coming near him. He was also quite poor and couldn't offer much to any future bride. Nevertheless, he liked his life at the moment without any restrictions of wives and bosses, and he was fond of his carefree life spent with Sekah.

'You know you should really clean this place up.' Sekah murmured mischievously. 'It's starting to smell like its fetid owner!'

'Why you – ' Marik chased Sekah out of his room with a flurry of bright shoals and togas, and into the sandy slum roads of Thebes. The morning light was only inching past the horizon and the shadows became lighter as Ra's rays began to banish the night. Marik and Sekah continued to run down the sandy road, past women batting out sand from rugs and chasing their children to say the Morning Prayer. As Sekah grew tired and began to walk did Marik finally catch up to the taller man and finally lace his arm around the other's mid-riff.

'Dammit I haven't done that in a long time.' Rasped Marik as he tried to regain his breath.

'What? Run? I say you haven't done any exercise for this past month!' Scoffed Sekah as he tousled Marik's already tangled hair. 'Anyway, what's got you so down lately? You look as pale as a Water Lilly and you have dark circles around your eyes, despite how much you sleep.'

Marik looked at his young friend, a saddened expression crossing his features to silence his friend's questioning. Why indeed? He knew why. At night, amongst the sleeping tendrils of the subconscious mind he kept dreaming the same dream of a blind man saying he's preordained to hold one of these 'special' items that will determine the fate of the world. Yet he said it came at a terrible cost. He didn't know what this cost meant but he always woke to his own pitiful whimpers each night. Sweating, he would disentangle himself from his blanket and find his back stinging where the blind man inscribed symbols in his dreams. He knew that there was nothing wrong with his back and the inscriptions were from his overactive imagination, yet he wasn't so sure. It seemed so real, and when he finally calmed down enough to resume his slumber, the mysterious blind man came again to warn and harm him once more.

The men silently walked the rest of the way to the river's banks as they joined other men their own age to bathe and swim in its salty depths. Sekah smiled at Marik as he spotted Amon rubbing the sap of the rushes across his bare flesh. Marik nudged his friend in encouragement and his friend ran to the riverbank. Marik watched as Sekah undressed and joined Amon in the shallow depths of the river with his own bunch of willowy rushes.

'Horny little bastard!' Muttered Marik when he saw his friend begin to trace the crack between Amon's cheeks with one of the rushes. With a final snort and a chuckle at his friend's promiscuousness, Marik decided not to linger and he too began to strip for a morning bath.

He walked quite a distance further than where the other males were bathing and he let his foot skim the water's surface when he reached the riverbank's edge. It was cool to the touch and he shivered remembering that he was far away from his warm bed. Marik, breathing in the tepid morning air, closed his eyes as the wind caressed his hair and naked body. Muttering the Morning Prayer he bent down and grabbed the rushes beside him so he could use the sap for soap. Marik then slowly ventured into the chilly waters of the Nile where he knelt and felt the abrasive sand beneath his knees. He smiled slightly as he dipped his entire body beneath the river's surface and felt the fish skim past his face. He rose quickly with an intake of air and laughed for the first time in ages. _It's good to be alive!_ He thought as he began to lather the sap over his torso. Chuckling to himself, Marik turned to where his friend was supposed to be and found Sekah and his crush in a passionate kiss before they ended up splashing into the water, much to the amusement of the men surrounding them.

Marik, unable to watch his friend kissing another guy, disappeared beneath the surface again to remove the soapy residue from his body. Marik serenely watched as the river's fish swam lazily against the current of the river and he began to swim amongst them; reveling in their speed and grace. Before long, Marik raised to the surface again as he suddenly became aware that he was closer to his friend than before. Noticing this, Sekah moved languidly to his gasping friend and helped him up.

'My, my! Swimming with the fishes again are we?' Joked Sekah as he started to pull Marik towards the riverbank. 'Fine, healthy men lathering their bodies and playing "Hide the Reed" and what do you do? Swim with the fishes!'

'What makes you think I like guys!' Huffed Marik as he disentangled himself roughly from Sekah's grip.

'Oh I know. Trust me. I have the man's equivalent to "Women's Intuition"'

'Yeah right!'

'Oh so would you like me to prove you wrong?' Sekah smiled as he brusquely swung Marik around and held him tightly before he licked Marik's neck seductively.

'No…ah –' gasped Marik as he ran his fingernails down Sekah's back just as Sekah gently bit his collarbone.

'Then don't be such a cock-tease then!' Sekah murmured before pushing him away and laughing.

'I'm not!'

'Then explain to me why I have been having raunchy little dreams about you ever since I hit puberty?' Said Sekah as he sprawled himself against the dry, sandy banks of the Nile. Marik resentfully sat next to him and looked at his naked friend, relaxed beside him. _Oh dammit! Why can't I show little reaction to our interlude as he does? Damn my betraying body!_

'You don't want me! You want Amon!' Marik said indignantly.

'Lust and love are totally different things Marik.' Sekah said as he rolled onto his side and wrapped his arm around his friend. 'I lust after Amon…but I…I love you.'

Marik sat stunned as he gazed at his friend. Sekah's pleading eyes suggested for him to accept his confession, accept his lingering hand over his suddenly drying flesh. Marik, stricken, looked away from the tanned brunette beside him and started to inspect his toes. Sekah, aware of Marik's distress sat up and hooked his long fingers underneath his chin and raised it, seeking for Marik's thoughts.

'I…I can't say I can offer those feelings in return.' Whispered Marik, 'But I'll like to take it slow with you before I can discern whether or not I can reciprocate them. If…if you'll let me.'

'Of course I will!' Sekah mumbled before capturing Marik's lips in a tender kiss.

Marik timorously returned the kiss, reveling in the moist lips that met his own with fervor and passion. Marik groaned and smiled as he let his tongue shyly trace the outline of Sekah's lips, before letting it be captured within his mouth where his playful tongue massaged his in yearning. Marik, after a long period of time, became aware of their surroundings and the state of their dress so he pulled from Sekah's embrace reluctantly.

'Slow,' Marik whispered as he bit on his new boyfriend's ear.

'Cock-tease!' Replied Sekah before placing another kiss on Marik's already bruised lips.

Marik returned the gesture, before turning away from Sekah's appreciative gaze so he could wrap the toga around his slim waist, hoping that he couldn't see his blush let alone other things.

'So what shall we do now?' Marik commented as he turned back to look at his friend who was dressing beside him.

'Well we better see what's for breakfast. Come to my house! My mum's been dying to pester you for an arranged marriage with my sis for weeks!' Scoffed Sekah.

'Great! I can see your sis now dancing around me and throwing sand in my hair whilst singing… "Mari'! Mari'! Marry me!"'

The men laughed and they began walking down the sandy pathway back to the main road. By then the sun had risen above the horizon, allowing the water droplets to evaporate from their skin and garments. Marik smiled as he lifted his head and greeted the sun whilst feeling the breeze tousle his hair and caress his body gently. He was happy, in an odd sense. He knew that he woke between the sheets sweaty with desire and yearning for his friend when the blind man decided to leave him alone. But he never thought that he'd actually be able to have him, like this. He smiled at his boyfriend and shyly brushed his hand with his own. Sekah fondly grabbed his hand with his own and massaged it gently, before contently holding it. Marik blushed and they both walked together, hand-in-hand as they entered the slums.

'Marik! Marik!' A woman came running towards them, her wide girth and demanding voice made Marik seek the comfort of his protector's arms. Sekah, however, ran to the lady and embraced her tenderly.

'So how are you my friend's dear, dear mother?' Sekah asked coyly as he heard an audible groan come from his boyfriend's lips.

'Fine, fine my dear!' Marik's mother said dismissively. 'Marik! Get into your room and clean it up! It looks like a bloody pig sty!'

'But mum –'

'No buts! Just get in there and clean it!'

'It's amazing how things come around' Sekah joked as he slapped Marik's behind playfully as Marik passed them both to enter his house. 'Anyway, I'll see you later ok? Meet me at the square as soon as you can!'

'Yeah all right!' Marik replied dejectedly.

'If you hurry your chores I'll make it worth your while!' Teased Sekah as he winked Marik goodbye.

'My, my! He's in a cheerful mood this morning!' Marik's mother said appraisingly. 'Anyway, move it along! It's not going to clean itself!'

'Yes, mother!'

Marik shuffled across the dirty threshold and went to his room near their private courtyard. Marik liked his room; it was sort of homely in a way. His mother's tapestries were draped everywhere in all sorts of styles and colours. They depicted either their family history or the mythological stories of the gods. She was renowned in the district for her creativity and sewing skills and she was often commissioned by rich merchants to do a piece for their stall. This was what brought in their income since his own father had passed away when he was a little boy. But it was steady and even if he didn't have the same luxuries as his friends, he was still happy nonetheless with what he had. Marik smiled warmly as he started tidying his room. _I have a boyfriend! I have a boyfriend! _Marik repeated to himself. _The soft brown curls that caress his neck, his big, brown puppy eyes, and his strong toned body… all MINE!_

Marik completed his chores in no time and he ran to give his mother a kiss and to knick one of the loaves of warm, crusty bread before running out the door. He half-skipped, half-ran past the many houses outlining the well trodden road and he didn't stop until he reached the main road leading to the city's heart. He laughed aloud at his happiness and he gazed at the sky to thank the gods for his good fortune. Yet what was beginning to be a bright, sunny day seemed to diminish as ominous dark clouds were hovering over the main city. His eyes widen in shock and he looked back to the road he was walking on. He could see faint figures running in all directions and he started to become anxious. He began to run, slowly at first and then faster as he saw that there was a great cloud of smoke hovering over the city now. _Hopefully he is all right. _Marik thought as he closed the distance between him and the outskirts of the middle-class houses.

As he drew nearer, Marik witnessed grown men and women crying, whilst dragging their own bawling offspring, as they ran for their lives away from the fire. Yet there was something more Marik noticed while he was passing the fleeing inhabitants of the city. Many of them were making certain signs with their hands; the same signal used when you want to be protected from supernatural evil. Marik quickened his pace as he flicked from one aggravated face to another. He couldn't find the one person he came for. He couldn't find the soft curls, toned body and gorgeous brown eyes that confessed earlier that he wanted him. He couldn't see him. He couldn't see Sekah.

'SEKAH!'

He was losing speed but he willed his protesting body to keep moving. The heavy smoke was beginning to permeate the air as he ran deeper into the city. With an extra burst of adrenaline he rounded a corner and he could see it in front of him. The sculpture that marked the city's heart – the town square. Marik could see burly figures slashing, the glint of their swords shining in the fire's light. Shaken, Marik began to run faster until he saw something lying on the sculpture's steps where he stopped in mid-jog.

A dark liquid was oozing down the brass sculpture as the figure held onto it so he could stand upright. The figure's arm seemed to be at an odd angle and he was struggling to breathe. Marik caught his breath as the auburn head rose defiantly at a man who was walking towards him. Marik started moving again, panic settling in as he recognized the man sprawled across the stature and he began yelling his name.

'SEKAH!'

Sekah raised his head at the mention of his name and he saw a familiar figure running down the main street. Tears were silently cascading down his face as his own heart fluttered and accepted his imminent fate. He wouldn't be with the sweet angel that teased him through their childhood and lifted him from the wallows of his abusive father. He smiled resolutely and raised himself until he was standing proud and erect in front of the man who was advancing menacingly with a spear.

The man had an unusual hair color, Sekah noted through his painful delirium. Shades of violet and gold were highlighted in his stygian black hair that stuck up at odd angles. His body was dusted in gold leaf and he wondered what this man's station was. It certainly seemed that he was no older than himself, yet he held such authority in the way he moved and sneered at his vulnerability. _Gosh, I'm still perving to the very end I guess. Well at least it will all be over soon._

The spear flashed gold as the dancing firelight accentuated the metal tip before it was plunged deep into his chest, which pinned him straight through the stature's brass arm. Sekah turned his head as he tried to fight the veil of death from his vision, and he smiled one last time at the stoic figure watching his death.

_I love you…_

Marik collapsed as he watched his lover's head fall, tears cascading down his cheeks. _Why? WHY! _Marik screamed within his mind as he thumped his hands into the soil in agony. He raised his head and glared through his tears at the man who was advancing on his friend and beloved. _I'll remember you! _Marik swore through his tears as he stared at the murderer. _I'll remember you and I'll kill you! _

The man, oblivious to Marik watching him, reached between the folds of his warrior garb and withdrew a gold ornament which he placed upon his victim's bloodied chest…

00000

'After a few months going from city to city I came across many strange tales similar to my own about bloody massacres and the razing of villages. I looked everywhere for the killer, yet no one has heard of him. Except…'

The room was profoundly quiet; it had been for the past hour when the youth started talking about the attacks in Thebes. Men and women were seated around him in the somewhat cramped, but brightly lit room. It was late and the men had been content to listen to the tale, sipping their ale and occasionally muttering about these recent tidings. The youth in question was wrapped in a cloak, the hood drawn up to hide his face. Unlike the other men however, he hadn't touched his ale, but merely looked at it as he solemnly retold how his beloved died. He was lost in the thought until one of the men grew impatient and prompted for him to continue.

'Well…' Marik began, 'news abroad spoke of a new King of Thieves that has risen. You see I lived in the moderately poor parts of the slums and when we heard of the new King, we rejoiced. Yet tidings came to us that he betrayed the coveted Circle of Thieves to the Hunters and they all were butchered. He, we gathered, left unscathed. Yet when I started traveling to other cities such as Abydos and then Memphis, I learnt that this new King was looking for new members for his Circle. He is also looking for the same man that I speak of. So I gathered that we could join forces and slaughter that son of a bitch!'

There was general agreement amongst his fellow bar friends and they offered him encouragement. Yet they were uncertain whether he could be what the new King was looking for. He didn't seem to have anything special about him and it was rumored that it was a life or death battle to be accepted into the Circle. Nevertheless, he seemed genuine.

'I'm afraid my boy,' wheezed an old man whose teeth were clearly decaying in his mouth, 'that the new King is hard to find. He's rumored to only work in shadows and with some of the shadiest characters. He chooses who he wants to see and when. No one decides his fate. He made that clear to that oaf Freya didn't he Erin?'

'Yes' quipped the barmaid, 'Slit him from genitals to chops he did! Nasty business!'

'But I need to find him!' Whined Marik dejectedly. _I need to find the murderer! I can't do it without his help! _'I have some information about the murderer he must know, and he alone!' He added as he felt inquisitive stares return to his cloaked face.

'Well, you'll find no one in here that knows that type of connection boy!' A man muttered as he slapped him on the back. 'We're just plain street rats here!'

The crowd began to disperse as they continued to drink and talk about tonight's events. Marik, his pale brunette hair hanging lank over the rim of his cloak hood, looked dejectedly down at his mug of ale. _Yet another attempt wasted. How much more should I take?_ _I can't bear to tell the tale anymore! Sekah…_

Tears began to form and slowly trickle down his cheeks. He'd been to too many bars to try and find where the King lodged and each time he was forced to tell his story. Marik sighed and he tentatively took a gulp of the burning amber liquid. _It's not as bad as the last time I had this_. Thought Marik amusingly when he decided that moping wasn't getting him anywhere. He brushed his tears away and he looked at his surroundings. A warm crackling hearth was on the other side of the parlor and most of his listeners returned there. He watched as a large group of giggling females and their suitors passed by Marik's table and waved him goodbye and good luck before heading out the door. He smiled in thanks and turned to look at who now remained. There were four old men who seemed to be playing a quiet game of cards between them, the bar maid who was washing the mugs and a strange fellow sitting in the furthest corner of the room. Marik couldn't recall him sitting with him to listen to his tale and he was perturbed at how the man stared unabashedly at him. Marik returned to his mug until he felt a presence looming beside him.

'Is what you say true?' Whispered the man as he stood beside Marik.

'Yes…yes it is.' He replied candidly.

'Then follow me.'

Marik looked straight up to question this newcomer but he realized that the other man had started moving toward the staircase. Marik followed hesitantly as he surveyed his guide incredulously. His physique was built, yet he walked with a grace that didn't quite fit him. He also wore a red piece of cloth around his earring and had scars lacing his back. The man had piercing eyes, he was certain; due to the way he stared at him from the corner of the room earlier. Marik was about to question to where they were going but he was stopped by a wave of the man's hand and a threat that, if he told anyone about what is to happen, he'd be happy to commit any type of torture upon him until he begged to die. Marik thinking it best to stay quiet walked behind the man until it seemed they had reached the uppermost landing.

'Stay here.' His escort said when he entered the room behind the only door in sight.

Marik didn't know what was happening when suddenly the man reappeared and ushered Marik inside.

The room was pitch black; nothing could be seen as Marik stepped over the threshold and the door behind him closed with an audible click. He tried to blink away his confusion until he could make out the odd shapes of furniture in the tiny room. He heard someone rustle amongst the sheets of the bed, a lean figure sprawled languidly across it. Marik couldn't discern any features and he was about to comment on lighting a lamp when a velvety voice stopped him in mid-breath.

'I believe you know a man with violet and gold streaks in his black hair, somewhat tall and commanding.'

'I know him of that description, but I can't actually say I know him personally.' Replied Marik as he squinted in the darkness at the figure.

'Yet you want revenge do you not?' The voice said evenly.

'Of course I do!' Fumed Marik. 'I want him to suffer the way I suffered! The way Sekah suffered! I want him dead!'

'Good!' Purred the voice. 'We want the same things then.'

Marik was dumbstruck. _This couldn't be him, could it?_

'My man told me you had news for me, that I should hear alone, true?'

'Well…yes…but I…'

'Well then let me properly introduce myself.' Murmured the figure as Marik watched him disappear from his sight only to reappear a moment later swathed in candlelight.

'My name is Bakura.'

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NOTES ON FIC:

Aardvark comment: Seth, in Egyptian mythology is some sort of creature yet he is mostly associated with the Aardvark. It was sort of my lame attempt at humor.

Grr! Fanfiction isn't allowing me page breaks! So '0' is my page break! Sorry!

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A/N: So you read it? Wow I love your stamina! I hoped you liked the story since I did it at a time when I was stressing about homework…-sigh-…Anywho…please I request of you to do me the courtesy of submitting a review. I'd really like to know your thoughts and perhaps improvements. You can flame me all you like…but please let it be constructive! Thanks! I really appreciate it! n.n

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	3. Initiation

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A/N: I know I take forever to update this fanfic and so I've decided to do a rotation between all my stories under progress so this doesn't get left out for so long. I don't know…Anyway, for the people who've reviewed (recently); you've been mentioned accordingly in my profile…so take a look. Thanks for being patient with this chapter and hopefully it's worth it to you. Now onto Bakura's Bane!

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BAKURA'S BANE 

CHAPTER TWO:

INITIATION

By shinujigoku

_He stood there. The golden tints of his hair and his startling purple eyes were wide with apprehension. His toned body could be seen in the weak glow of the candle in my hand and I remember defining his muscles by gracing the light over every contour of his body before resting the light on his face. He was so naïve, so innocent, so beautiful. I was captivated and I knew at that moment that he was mine alone. I vowed no one would touch this beauty that graced my apartments bar me and whoever did would face my wrath. However, by what my bodyguard informed me, it seemed his heart was with this Sekah, some dead boy he once loved. So it meant that I had to win him over, win him to worship me and only me, win him to my bedchamber. Little did I know that he'll be the bane of my existence…my interminable existence._

_He caused me to live in a fate worst than hell._

_Am I scaring you little one? I can feel your spirit shiver inside you. Do not worry; we have some time yet before I possess you. Indulge me; I'll make sure you'll see every detail on why this person caused my bane and soon to be yours._

_His name is…_

'Marik Ishtar. I'm sorry to disturb your rest King.'

'No bother, please take a seat.'

Bakura walked around the room languidly and lighted the wicks of the various candles gracing his room. The room was sparsely furnished, with a bed, a table with beautifully carved chairs and a reclining place lined with pillows in which Marik took as his seat. Marik looked at the infamous King and was astounded that he was so young – his age in fact. But Marik looked at the many scars lacing the King's defined body and knew, experience-wise, he was still a juvenile compared to him. Yet he felt a strange longing to trace all the scars on his body with his fingertips, especially the one on his face, which made the King look stern and devilish. Marik watched the King approach him and he felt like the prey to a predator, a very delicious looking predator.

_The spear flashed gold as the dancing firelight accentuated the metal tip before it was plunged deep into his chest, which pinned him straight through the stature's brass arm. He turned his head and he smiled one last time at him in sorrow._

'Sekah…' Marik mumbled, adverting his gaze from Bakura.

Bakura had taken his time lighting the candles, taking care to position himself to look at the youth inhibiting his quarters. He motioned for his guard to leave the room; he had already noticed that his guest did not bring any weapons into the room and felt assuredly safe. Therefore, there was no need for his bodyguard and friend to take watch. Bakura kept glancing at the man reclining, and he was undoubtedly attracted to him. He also noticed that the man kept staring at him, his eyes showed, in what Bakura hoped was, lust. Bakura, emboldened by the youth's scrutiny of his body, (yes he watched the youth's eyes trace his torso) finished lighting the candles quickly and began to stalk towards him. He saw the boy lick his lips appreciatively until he became saddened by something and adverted his gaze. Bakura was disappointed.

'So tell me,' Bakura murmured as he positioned himself next to Marik, 'what news do you have that I should hear alone?'

'Well…' Marik sighed looking back to Bakura's violet orbs, 'after Sekah's death, and in my search for you, I came across other cities ravished by the man's army. In each city there was always one survivor who witnessed the main perpetrator of the massacres and what he did during them, except one, which is you. I realized that the other men who saw what the main person was doing hadn't sought retribution or report what they had seen to the Pharaoh or his officials. So I thought I'd try to rally some action without the Pharaoh's help, so I came looking for you.'

In the candlelight, Bakura hid a demented smile behind his fingertips, his eyes narrowing at Marik in contemplation. ' So you've found me. Now, what did you, and the other men before you, see that I didn't?'

'That knowledge comes at a price.' Marik said defiantly.

Bakura's eyes narrowed further until they resembled slits and hissed in anger; ' What the hell do you want?'

'I want to join your ring of thieves.'

Startled, Bakura leaned further back in the pillows and surveyed the man before him. _This is a surprise,_ Bakura thought. He guessed that Marik had never really fought anyone in his life except his mother, and yet he was willing to join his coveted ring of underground thieves where death and battle ruled pretty much every time the last rays of the sun hid behind the sandy dunes of Egypt. Since Bakura was now sitting beside Marik, he could tell they were the same age, or near it at least. Yet, Bakura also noticed that Marik had the body fit for dirty old men's parlors than in his world. However, he wouldn't let dirty old men touch him, nor anyone else for that matter, so he drew a deep breath and said:

'There's an initiation process, y'know. You have to undergo a one-on one combat with one of my thieves.'

'I'm undergoing it now.' Marik said candidly. Bakura raised his eyebrow questioningly. 'I'm "battling" you with my mind. Negotiating. That's the combat I'm undertaking now.'

Bakura roared back in laughter. Marik, feeling slighted, pouted, which only fueled Bakura's laughter even more. After what seemed like an eternity to Marik, Bakura finally subsided with only a trace of a grin still on his face.

'My, my, so that's how you want to get in. I dare say, Ishtar, you certainly have game. But my thieves need people with brawn and brains to fight beside with. Not some upstart pretty boy.'

'Well I have the brains, plus I'm stealthy. And I'm not just a pretty boy! I'm quick and I'm good with a dagger. I can't say I'm the best, but I'm better than average. Hopefully with time I can be equal to your men in brawns, I just need to practice.'

'Very well, I'll come up with an explanation as to why you're one of us. For now, fill me on what you've gathered.'

Marik breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't want to fight the King's men. They were infamously known to use devilish techniques to defeat their opponents. Marik knew that any man to go against one of them, mostly died. No one was meant to be standing.

'It seems that this man and his men commit a massacre every year at the outbreak of the summer solstice.' Marik began. 'He murders exactly ninety-nine people each time, and he carries around some sort of gold medallion or statue to each one. Reports say that this man, who by the way has spiky black hair with tints of purple, red and gold, places this medallion on each of his victim's chest and, I know this sounds ludicrous, but sucks out their soul. I know you won't believe me, but the victim's…Sekah…well he didn't have a pupil in his eyes. The pupil was gone and only the iris remained which was red. Other people from other villages say the same thing, that the dead have red eyes with no pupils. I think this man is dealing with the forbidden arts, arts only meant for the Gods.'

Bakura sat silent, listening to Marik's tale intently. He agreed that it sounded preposterous, but he was right in some respects. On his first night as King, the circle of thieves ring was ninety-nine in number, and he lost all of them to him. When, in the morning, after he recovered from the sexual abuse and torture he endured, he looked at his men to see if any of them survived. Unfortunately, he too encountered the blank red stares of death looking up balefully at him. He thought it uncanny that they all had that look, but he dismissed it as some sort of aftereffect of a destructive virus from an exotic smoking plant they all smoked. However, this, the story Marik wove, was a possibility.

'Do you know what he wants with all those souls?' Bakura asked.

'On my travels to reach here, I came across a veteran soldier as I was telling my story in one of the bars. He wouldn't tell me who the boss was, but he told me what he knew of his old master's plan. He mentioned that his ex-boss wanted to create something known as the 'Shadow Realm,' yet what it was he didn't know. He also said that the evil Gods and Pharaohs of the underworld were helping him and they gave him a temporary power to harness the ingredients required to create this realm.'

'Anything else?'

'Yes, the man said that the medallions and statues that the man brings to each massacre are known as the 'Millennium Items' and they hold the souls.'

'Hrm…'

Throughout the last of Marik's speech, Bakura had been pacing the room in contemplation. When Marik mentioned the Shadow Realm, something clicked inside Bakura's mind and he sorted through his memories on where he had it. Bakura remembered his old master, the former King of Thieves, had stated something about the Shadow Realm. He said that it was possible for the eater of foul hearts, Ammit to release the souls in secret and place them in the world called the Shadow Realm. There, the souls transform depending on their disposition in the realm – repentant, evil, weak, strong etc. The souls become monsters and a person, supposedly, could control them. But they had to be extremely powerful, his master told him. He also told him that it could all be fictional; a wives tale to frighten the kids at night. But what Marik said brought everything he knew to a new light.

Marik watched expectantly at the King, noting the furrowed brows and pursed lips. It seemed that the King knew something about the Shadow Realm, but it wasn't his place to ask questions concerning his thoughts.

'So,' Marik drawled. Bakura had stopped pacing in surprise and looked at him. 'That's all I know, and I was wondering if we could become comrades and defeat the person who caused so much heartache and anger.'

'Ishtar,' Bakura smiled slightly, 'Do you even know who we're fighting against?'

'Erm…no…'

'The Pharaoh.'

Marik's eyes widened in surprise and he shook his head mechanically, denying what Bakura was saying. The Pharaoh surely wouldn't mercilessly murder his own people would he?

'Yes, it's the Pharaoh. On the night where all my men were murdered, I was ordered to be raped and tortured by the men by the same man who killed your Sekah. The men answered him, as Pharaoh, and I knew that he had betrayed the people of Egypt that night, especially the poor. From then on, I sought out minor revenge tactics so I could draw him out and kill him, yet he never sought retribution. You know he was the one who gave me this scar.'

Bakura lightly traced the line on his face that started at the bottom of his eye and ended halfway down his cheek in remembrance. Marik, spellbound, rose from his and stretched out his hand where he replaced Bakura's hand with his own, lightly caressing the scar. Bakura nestled further into Marik's touch, until his whole hand was holding one side of his face. Marik looked up at him and saw that his eyes had become glazed, a _hungry_ look in them – something possessive and animalistic. The light in the room had become lower due to the candles being slowly burned out and Bakura stepped closer to Marik, his hand caressing his shoulder. Marik shivered in response and licked his lips, but then a sudden thought of Sekah flashed through his mind and he stepped away from him.

'So do you want me?' Marik asked timidly. He noticed that Bakura's toga was slightly tenting and he watched Bakura step towards him again.

'You know I do.'

'That's not what I meant,' Marik stammered stepping closer to the door. 'Can I be in your circle?'

Bakura noticing the gentle refusal smiled and straightened. 'We'll see. Someone will come for you sometime in the near future wearing a piece of red cloth circling his or her earpiece. They won't talk to you, and you will not talk to them. Just follow. If you miss him, then you cannot become one of us, and you've missed your chance. Make sure he does not see you, or else he'll wound you terribly. When that person finally stops, only then you can approach him and ask for the password and the directions to the hideout. Do I make myself clear?'

'Yes!' Marik exclaimed grateful for the chance.

'Oh and one other thing,' Bakura pounced quickly, trapping Marik between the wall and his growing arousal. He quickly grabbed Marik's hands at lightening speed and placed them above Marik's head. Bakura slowly licked and kissed down Marik's neck and chest. When he heard the evident hitch in Marik's breath and a soft pant, Bakura claimed his nipple between his teeth and unsheathed his dagger, marking the underside of Marik's chest, a thin red line oozing blood. Marik bit down on his lip in pain, drawing more blood and looked down accusingly at the smiling King.

'To enter, you need a scar to say you've fought someone – me.'

00000

The grayish light of early dawn seeped through the opened window, the night's cool breeze finally dying only to be replaced with a warm wind, hinting that the weather that day will be scorching hot. The dull light shimmered over the lying figure, his arms crossed behind his head, and his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. A faint smile gracing his still face could be seen, and his eyes softened as he remembered something. Yet as soon as the smile had appeared it vanished and a small sigh could be heard escaping the figure's pert lips.

_Why would he do that? The King of Thieves for goodness sake! Surely he can have anybody…_

Marik rose from the bed and held his head in his hands, pulling his hair in frustration. He couldn't come to terms with the King's behavior last night, let alone his own. He enjoyed the attention yet he didn't want to tarnish his love for Sekah. But last night…

Marik rose angrily from his bed, and went to the pitcher to do his morning ablutions and to place on fresh clothes. _If I want the King's help I need to do what he asks for the time being. Perhaps I could use his attraction against him. _

Smiling, Marik left his room after he was satisfied with how he looked and went downstairs to pay the innkeeper. It was early morning and he thought of going to the town square where he would hopefully find some meat on a skewer and perhaps a nice drink of cider before looking for his oblivious "guide." Marik surmised that the guide would probably be in the town square where not only himself, but other thieves, might look for him and follow. With this in mind, Marik cheerfully handed the copper coins to the caretaker, took a loaf of bread from a buxom maid who was passing him, and whistled out into the now brightening morning light.

Marik didn't need to walk far to the square and he watched some of the merchants setting out their wares for display while early-bird buyers straggled around looking for things to buy. As Marik watched a couple of boys hoodwink a merchant of a few apples and a block of cheese, Marik smelled something delicious in the air. _Aha! _Marik rejoiced. _Food._

Marik sniffed the air again and followed the scent. During the hour he spent happily wandering the town square, more people had arrived and had flooded the streets with activity. Buskers, jesters, merchants, and shoppers crowded the streets and Marik pushed his way past them to the edge of the square where a large stall showed a massive boar on a spit and a scurvy brute calling for customers.

Marik's eyes widened and he ambled towards the merchant and asked for two spits worth of meat and dripping. The toothless man readily agreed and handed him his food in exchange for coins. Marik's stomach growled appreciatively as he took his purchases and sat on someone's stair, eating hungrily. He looked around carefully at all the people passing him, trying to spot a red cloth tied around an earring. He sat and waited.

As the sun rose higher, Marik was moving uncomfortably on the stone stair, becoming bored by the incessant noise of market life. The heat was becoming unbearable and he had been sitting there long enough with no luck. It had been ages since he had last eaten, and his mouth was parched. Resignedly, he sighed and stood, shielding his eyes from the harsh light. He decided to look for something to eat and this time to find a cool ale to quench his thirst. Once again he scrambled past the shoppers until he found a respectable stall that was bread, cheese, meat and ale for a reasonable price. Marik sat down wearily and gulped down the contents of his mug, calling for another one. Yet as he waited he spotted a bedraggled beggar beside the stall, annoying the merchant.

'I said get lost you filthy scoundrel!' Yelled the merchant.

'Just something to eat sir, something for my old body! Please?' whined the beggar.

Marik watched the beggar fall to the floor after the merchant kicked him shamelessly. The merchant came back to Marik and placed it in front of him. The beggar got up and looked at him, and Marik could clearly see his features past the dirt. He was a small man, frail, and he had small watery eyes and a nose that seemed to have been broken countless times. Yet what intrigued Marik the most was the dangling earring that held a piece of red cloth amongst red feathers. Marik's eyes widened as he recognized the earring and the beggar looked confusingly at him.

_Shit! He saw me!_

'Come here.' Marik beckoned to the old beggar. _Well maybe generosity might hide my understanding. '_I'll buy you something to eat and drink. Sit.'

The beggar's eyes widened in delight and he scuttled to sit next to his donor. Marik ordered the man the same as what he was having, ignoring the merchant's annoyed glare. The beggar thanked him and began wolfing down his meager meal.

'I'm sorry I could not give you something more to eat. I am unfortunately lacking a lot of money at the moment and I need what I have to survive for the next week.' _And then I have to find work._ Sighed Marik sadly.

'Its…' the beggar gulped before starting again, 'it's more than I usually have. Thank you.'

'Your welcome.' Marik replied, finishing the last of his meal. 'I better get going. I have a long trip ahead of me. Good day.'

'Good day and thank you again. If we ever meet again maybe I can return the favor.' The beggar said cheerily whilst the merchant snorted in derision.

Marik smiled and nodded at him before walking to the other side of the street and hiding down a narrow alleyway amongst the shadows. He decided to still follow the beggar and hope that he can still get the coveted information despite breaking one of the rules.

He didn't need to wait long when the beggar leaned back in his seat in relish and smacked his lips in fulfillment. He rose and waved at the merchant who was slaughtering a chicken in anger with his knife. Marik followed the beggar as he walked down endless alleyways and streets for hours, and as the evening sky could be seen appearing above the horizon, Marik and the beggar were outside of the city. Marik walked a good hundred meters behind his guide so he could hide quickly if the beggar decided to look behind him.

The sun was slowly sinking behind the horizon and the beggar and Marik were following a stream. Marik soon doubted that he followed the wrong person and with a yawn, which was frequently happening, the beggar disappeared into a mud hut. Marik was devastated and plunked down by the stream's banks to cool his face.

When Marik felt somewhat refreshed, he looked back up at the hut and noticed the beggar sitting outside smoking a pipe. Marik was in shock. Gone was the thread-bare beggar clothing, now the beggar was sitting in rich purple robes, with gold dusting his arms and legs. He was now clean and Marik rose from the bank and started to walk towards the man. As he drew nearer, the former beggar looked up surprised, still puffing at his pipe.

'So you're the new one?' The old man said with a smile.

'Er…yes…' Marik replied.

'Who would've thought…' he mused. 'Well I suppose you want the password and directions?'

'Yes sir.' Marik said.

'You do know I spotted you today at that stall?'

'Yes, but that was by accident and at the time I wasn't purposefully looking for you. I just wanted something to eat.'

The man chuckled and slapped the youth on the back. 'No harm done. Let's say I'm a lot more lenient than the other messengers so be glad you got me lad!'

'Yes sir.'

'Well the password's "Water boy" and you need to go back into town along this road and look out for the potter jars marked with an arrow. Follow them until you come to a home with a child wearing a purple thong playing with stones. Tell the boy the password and he'll give you a rock. Enter the home and show the rock to the guard by the door.'

'Is that it?'

'Yes, now off you go before night settles in.' Guffawed the old man pushing Marik back where he came.

'Can I ask something before I go?'

'Sure.'

'For a beggar, you sure have fine clothing. How could you afford it?'

'Messengers get paid well.'

00000

By the time Marik arrived at the home, it was truly nighttime where only the stars twinkled in the sky. Marik thought the directions the old man had given him were easy enough, yet trying to find the potter jars proved to be quite difficult. It took him approximately two hours to find his way, and he came up to the boy, panting and exhausted.

'Water boy!' Marik exclaimed, holding onto his sides as he tried to regain his breath.

The boy smiled and lifted the rock that was in his hand to him. Marik was surprised that it was the same youth that stole some cheese and apples earlier that day. He took the rock and the boy smirked at him before returning to play with his rocks. Marik turned the rock between his fingertips and realized there was writing on the other side. Marik read it as 'Ibis,' and he walked past the boy and pushed past the curtain into a dark entryway. Marik confusedly blinked to try and see through the darkness until a large arm went around his neck and began choking him.

'Who're you?' The man growled.

'I don't need to tell you!' Marik choked before stuffing the rock into his assailant's large hands. The man grunted angrily and pushed him away.

'Fine. Go down the hallway and up the stairs.'

'Don't I get a candle?'

'No. You go in darkness.'

Marik huffed and he outstretched his hands to feel the cool mud and stone beneath his fingers. He followed the walls until he stubbed his foot on what he presumed was the stair and tentatively climbed them until he could distinguish a rectangle of light up ahead. He began to hurry and he walked over the threshold into the brightly lit room.

There were people everywhere; all different in ages and size, yet they were all richly dressed in volumes of different cloths and colors. Marik felt quite underdressed and he looked apprehensively at his toga surrounding his hips. No one noticed his presence and he decided to hide in half-shadow so no one could derisively remark about his clothing, or lack of.

'Welcome.' A voice whispered behind his ear, making Marik shiver in undisguised arousal. 'I thought you wouldn't make it.'

The owner of the voice purposefully rubbed his body against his to get past him, and Marik looked up at the face, framed by long white locks and beautiful eyes. 'I made it.' Marik whispered huskily. He noticed that Bakura was wearing pretty much the same outfit as his, yet of finer material. He also had an ornately carved arm piece on his left arm fashioned in the form of a snake. Bakura smiled and Marik smiled in return, though a little apprehensively. _What now?_ Thought Marik.

Bakura, as if reading his thoughts, looped his arm in his and directed him to the center of the room.

'Everyone,' Bakura began, silencing everyone at once whilst they quickly tried finding a seat around the edges of the room. 'Welcome to the meeting! I know everyone has news to tell me of their escapades or certain events that have happened or about to happen. But let me first introduce to you, Marik, a new thief to our circle.'

Applause and wolf-greetings were made and Marik could feel himself blushing madly. Bakura, after waiting for a bit, raised his hands and everyone fell silent again, listening intently.

'Some of you may be wondering why I brought you here tonight, earlier than our pre-arranged date. It was not for this man to be introduced, but for something else. Something I require from you all to do for me. You see I have a plan, a plan brought about by Marik's information and I need all of you to help me fulfill it. There will be time for sharing, drinking and dallying, yet tonight, tonight we talk about the Pharaoh.'

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AN: Well that's the end of it. So please review! If you spot any mistakes such as words needing a space between them, tell me. This site isn't uploading my documents correctly.

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